


I'm Not Gonna Tell You What's Going On.(Someday you'll understand why)

by tonykorhonen



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Roadtrips, Slash, Slow Burn, Thelma and Louise AU, fragmented writing jfc im sorry, maybe ooc idk, some hurt/comfort later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:30:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonykorhonen/pseuds/tonykorhonen
Summary: Thelma and Louise AU. Based slightly off of that wonderful flick.Billy has had enough of his dad's shit. He wants a change of scenery, and feels just a teensy bit unhinged.He also can't deny the weird feeling in his stomach when he sees Steve Harrington anymore.He's ready for-for what, exactly ? He hopes Steve knows.This fic will, to some extent, explore the dynamic relationship between Steve and Billy, and attempt to establish a fleshed out, incredibly angsty "what if" situation. I hope y'all like.OH and Eleven and Hopper will make appearances somewhere along the way.





	I'm Not Gonna Tell You What's Going On.(Someday you'll understand why)

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction I've posted in literally years. Hope it doesn't suck TOO much.  
> ALSO, THIS WOULD NOT HAVE HAPPENED HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR THE WONDERFUL @tonykorhonen, a wonderful person who is not only the co-author to this fic as well as its beta, but currently working on a great Harringrove fic themselves. Go check out that blog for some great stuffs. 
> 
> I'm @mic1204 on tumblr. Hit me up trashies, I'm ready to complain.

1984

The cold winter air in Hawkins was something Billy just could not get used to , being California-bred through and through , no matter how hard he tried. He didn’t try very hard though , still clothed in his usual dark purple button-down shirt , barely covering up his navel with the way he wore it open , a single bullet shaped earring dangling tediously from his left ear , tight fitting acid wash denim jeans with thick old army boots and his carefully styled hair now slightly matted with blood not a very effective barrier against the icy chill invading his blue Camaro. The fresh cut on his lip stung markedly when he stuck his head out of the window , blowing out extensive clouds of smoke from what must have been the seventh cigarette to be lit since he left his house. The rough humming of the car’s engine in tandem with the blaring sounds of Metallica through said car’s speakers did a nearly effecient job of clouding Billy’s thoughts. Tonight had been no different , same old pointless shit that set his father off. Billy can’t even remember what this specific error of his had been, though he could attribute that to the torturous rhythm the blood was pulsing to in his head and oh God , he probably had a concussion and should not be driving , but damnit if he wasn’t going to do whatever it took to get away from the fresh , vicious memories of his father beating him down to the ground. He takes a deep breath , trying to focus only on the noise surrounding him , hoping to forget the vile words flung at him by his father that seem to come unbidden to the forefront of his mind. He sighs forcefully and hits the steering wheel brusquely , eyes cloudy and body aching from the slight jar he received in his frustrated actions. His throat hurts , though not in the same way his body hurts. He feels the tears welling up in his eyes but doesn’t dare let them fall , in fear that by doing so he’d let those horrid things his father had said to him (“faggot” the most prominent) hit home , become part of the truth he is still suffering to face. He pointedly looks ahead of him , deciding to just set aside his glumness so that he can get to his destination faster. He doesn’t really know why he’s going where he’s going , it doesn’t make the least bit of sense , but he feels that he should let himself get lost in his current delirium , high on endorphins and fully intending to ride it out.

The Harrington house (looming in the dark street. Figures their house would be opulent) rolls up into Billy’s line of sight , quite the way from his relatively smaller (and rattier , in his opinion) abode. He pulls up under the tree about a furlong away from the actual house and shrouded by the extra cover of a large tree in the yard of the Harrington’s neighbours , throwing his cigarette out the window. As he’s shutting off the car , slipping the key out of the ignition and climbing out to step out the burning cigarette bud , his trepidation spikes suddenly , and he nearly abandons it all , ready to slip back into his car and just drive somewhere till his gas runs out. But he steels himself , ignoring the violent quiver of his hands by stuffing them in his pocket and inhaling deep so as to calm him enough for the short distance towards the house. He approaches the face of the house , then reckons that it probably isn’t the best way to approach his goal while remaining stealthy. He circles the wide house in a nearly predatory manner until he notices the small footpath leading to what he assumes to be a pool since there is a faint blue illumination coming from the end of the path where it meets the south-facing wall of the house. He grins , shark like , and walks on , silently thankful for finding a less criminal way of entering the Harrington property to find what he’s so anxiously looking for. He approaches what looks to be the Harrington backyard , a spacious area with a pool which serves as the sole source of light to this side of the settlement , preceded by a deck littered with chairs and a big class table , probably the place where people his age would hang out with their friends. He looks up , the house being double-storied , and is unfortunately only greeted with his next challenge : finding Harrington’s (Steve’s) window out of the four pairs before him. 

He looks around in the shrubbery surrounding the backyard , fingers prodding at the damp soil in search of anything small enough to use as a projectile. He feels his luck has turned , at least somewhat , as he finds three stones small enough to make noise yet , in his opinion , to not break anything. He stalks back to a distance from the house he judges fair and looks at the four options which lay before him , trying to suss out in some divine way which target he should choose first. He takes one of the rocks – close enough to pebbles that he gets a fleeting image of the Californian beach where his heart forever lies- and pelts it at the easternmost window. It lands with a pleasing but not blaring clack against the window. He waits an odd minute or so , to no response. He wants to turn his attention to another window , but decides that maybe he just didn’t throw the small stone hard enough , so he takes the second one in hand and launches it , this time with a little more determination than before. It beats against the window loudly and for a moment he thinks, fuck fuck fuck , fearing exposure , but then the light of that room flicks on , and a confused Steve appears suddenly through the curtains , eyes scouring the area for the cause of the disturbance. Billy looks up at him , eyebrows raised and a smirk plastered on his face as he sees Steve’s confused expression. Harrington opens the window, surprised , and shakes his head in utter disbelief. Billy motions for Steve to come out , mouthing ‘down’ in a manner Billy thinks must look like that of a drunkard. Steve looks wary and for a moment Billy thinks that he might just see Harrington laugh at him and shut the window to leave his sorry ass out there in the frosty evening , but feels slightly relieved when Steve sighs and nods his head ‘okay’ , and walks back into the room. Billy spends a few seconds more observing the small part of Steve’s room visible to him , thinking it strange that someone like Steve should have so plain a room when suddenly the door to the deck opens and a slightly dishevelled looking Steve (donning generic striped pyjamas and white socks) comes tiptoeing towards him. Arms wrapped around his slender frame , face drawn to a frown Steve says “Billy ? Billy Hargrove ? What the hell are you doing here , its like 30 degrees out ? And never mind that , we don’t even like each other.” With an expression of such befuddlement that Billy nearly laughs at him. He puts on a smile and his honeyed voice has no evidence of the nervousness currently bound in him. “Damn Harrington , never thought you were one to hold a grudge. Aren’t you supposed to be one of those forgive and forget people ? Here I was , thinking you were so damn nice but I guess I was wrong about you” He drawls out lowly. “Cut the crap Billy , it’s one in the morning and I’m really too tired to be dealing with this shit. What do you want ?”.  
Billy wants to fire a retort , always finding some joy in his banter with Harrington , but figures he needs Steve a little less hostile if his irrational plan has any chance of working. “No need to be hostile Harrington , I’m here on friendly terms.” And if Steve was confused at first seeing Billy at his house this early in the morning , or just seeing him at all , Billy thinks he just fucking hit Steve for a six , because the teenager now has a suspicious look in his eyes and tries to subtly find sturdy footing. Billy sees this and chuckles , “I see you’re finally planting your feet.” Steve draws his body upright and clenches his fists. “This is your last chance Hargrove , I’m not putting up with your shit , and by the looks of it neither did the person who gave you that lip” Steve says while nodding his chin at Billy. Billy makes himself stay calm , sliding his hands through his hair , now stiff in places due to the dried blood , and sighs , putting up his hands in defeat. He looks at his feet finding himself suddenly devoid of the machismo he usually displays. “ I came to ask you out on what you may call insanity but what I call an adventure. You see , I’m tired of this hick town life , tired of my piece of shit father beating on me and tired of trying to deal with the fact that I’m stuck here. I’m thinking of going back to Cali , and thought that I could use me a sidekick. And that you could use a break from this boring fucking suburban fantasy you call life. I want out , and I just couldn’t think of anyone better than you to accompany me.”

Steve literally gapes , the tension flowing out of his body as his face draws up in an uncomfortable line as he hmphs and looks up at the sky. “Jesus Christ Hargrove, you must really think I’m stupid if you’re trying to spin me a lie like that. We don’t know each other , we don’t like each other , you nearly beat me half to death , assault a fucking kid and you still have the audacity to wake me up at some ungodly hour to come and talk shit to me ? Are you drunk or just high off your ass on something? ” Steve sighs , pinches the bridge of his nose and looks Billy in the eyes. “Why do you keep on acting like this to me? Don’t you think that if you just fucking apologized or something I might actually forgive you? ” Billy feels sick , filled to the brim with regret and guilt and freaking embarrassment and just breaks the contact between them. “You know what Harrington , you’re fucking right. I don’t know why I’m here. Just forget all this and go back to your cozy little home and your cozy fucking rich boy life” he spits out and turns his back to Steve , now baffled beyond measure , and makes way back to his car. A strange feeling grips him , traps him and compels him to do something he doesn’t actually think of doing, “I’m leaving anyway and if you finally decide you want to live a little , meet me at Melwald’s tomorrow afternoon at three” he throws harshly over his shoulder and continues on. He faintly hears Steve saying ‘what’ but he doesn’t stop and listen , just walks broodingly out the backyard , away from the Harrington house , to the vague solace of his car. Once he’s inside he allows the tremor he’s been so skilfully subduing to wrack through his frame , leaning his head against the steering wheel.  
He honestly doesn’t know what just happened , and feels even worse when he admits to himself that he doesn’t know or even have an idea of what is possibly going to happen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  
The next day

 

Billy wakes up with a start , nearly falling off his bed. As he sits up he rubs away at the now hardened drool crusting his lips , trying to get accustomed to the foul taste in his mouth, unconcerned with the fact that he’s still dressed as he was when he had his excursion, sans the heavy army boots. His right hand shoots out to his bedside table , where he eagerly finds his pack of cigarettes and wastes zero time flipping open his lighter- the slight metallic clink overly loud to his ears – calm washing over him as he inhales deeply the fumes which should be bad for his health yet which he considers one of the few things keeping him alive. He leans back against the thin cream-coloured wall behind him , puffing out a smoke cloud and getting his bearings together. Fuck. Had he really showed up at Harrington’s house last night , all emotion and no tact , and revealed to him his daring plan ? He thinks that he must have really been dealt a good hit to pull some crazy shit like that. He figures that he should just put aside all of these ideas , graduation being practically within his reach, and suffer through it. He’s done it most of his life, what’s another couple of months? He laughs softly at his own naivety and stands up , ignoring the sudden rush of blood to his head , and makes for the bathroom. As he emerges from his room he’s greeted by an odd aroma. He perks, nose upturned , and slowly walks through the hall to the lounge. He sees the aftermath of his father’s rage again , the couch still tipped on its side with the nearby glass coffee-table shattered a small distance from the couch. But the smell isn’t coming from the living room , and the closer he gets to it , the more bearable it becomes. Pleasant even. He walks into the kitchen and is greeted by a sight that is at once so strange and nerve-wrecking that he swallows down that acrid taste in his mouth and tries to retreat back to the comfort of his room. Sitting by the dining room are his “family”, Neil at the head of the table with an awkward looking Max seated at his right hand , pushing a piece of what must be a sausage around on her plate and Susan , face warped with a smile Billy immediately spots as forced , at the stove , scooping up freshly cooked bacon into a small serving dish while idly chatting with Neil. 

To his misfortune Max notices him , and when she does she drops her fork in her plate , bacon forgotten , the clattering of the kitchenware prompting to look up from his own plate. “What’s wrong Maxine?” He sees how Max immediately tries to play coy , shaking her head and mumbling to herself but unfortunately Neil picks up on her attempted covert glance at Billy standing in the hallway. He follows her line of sight and when he looks at Billy , looks him in the eyes , Billy feels his heart drop to the pit of his clenched stomach. “Good morning son , why don’t you take a seat ? Your mother just finished up another batch of her delicious food” Neil says with a placating smile , words sweet and comforting and totally foreign when leaving his mouth. He smiles at Susan , faint lines at the corners of his mouth indicating that he’s definitely not a spring chicken anymore. Susan looks a bit startled when she sees Billy , hair unkempt and lip slightly swollen. “Morning sweetie , I just finished up this bacon. You can dish up there’s toast and eggs on the counter , would’ve offered you a sausage but it seems they’re all finished. I can quickly make you some , if you’d like ?” She says looking ever the part of a loving mother.  
Billy can’t help but stare incredulously at the scene playing out in front of him. When the fuck did they become this close? He sees Susan staring nervously at him , and decides that fuck it , he’ll play their game. Let’s see how long this one lasts. He puts on a grin , fake so as to match Susan’s smile , and walks up to the dining room table , pulling out the seat farthest away from his father’s left side and sitting down carefully , eyes hooded yet alert so that he’s not caught off guard. He gently places his hands on the table in front of him , his arms outstretched so that he has leverage to push himself away from the table if necessary. Susan materializes at his side , serves the new bacon while putting down a plate filled to the brim with eggs toast and a small handful of said bacon in front of Billy , only to move away quickly and reappear with a cup of steaming black coffee , which she puts down at Billy’s left hand. As she walks away he mumbles a noncommittal ‘thanks’ and focuses his gaze at Max , whose wild head of fiery hair is bowed so that she doesn’t have to bare her face to Billy , sure that she knows she fucked up this time. “Mornin’.” He rumbles gruffly at Max , softly kicking her leg under the table to indicate who he was speaking to, feeling that he at least has something to blame for now. Not that she did anything outwardly antagonistic to him. He knows for a fact- his dreams recapitulating the events of last night- that she was huddled in a corner as Neil had been laying into him , stunned into silence and frozen to the spot. He dismissively thinks that she’s not actually a bad kid , and that just like him , doesn’t deserve any of this shit. But needs must , and he feels that he can at least be mad at her for roping him into this awkward breakfast situation.

She looks up hesitantly, nods , looks back down and immediately Billy finds that something is off. It takes a while for him to figure out what exactly , his brain still not up to speed with his body , but when he does he audibly gasps. High up on Max’s cheek, nearly hidden from his sight by the quick glance he got and her red hair covering the right side of her face , there’s a mark. He doesn’t want to , hopes to God that he’s not , be right. So , as is his manner he kicks her in the shin , a little harder this time, in an effort to get Max to look at him again. Luckily it works and while Max is suddenly looking up to question this action, angrily rubbing her shin , her hair parts just enough from her face to reveal what Billy had been dreading. A bruise , he mentions absently to himself. It’s small and yellow , barely the size of a dime , but it’s dark enough for Billy’s eyes to fall on it unwaveringly. He feels a fire ignite in him , at first a simmer but then bursting to blaze. His fists start to shake lightly on the table and he feels like his lungs are filled with nothing but smoke , his breath lost and chest unable to expand any more. 

He looks at Max , “Did he do that ?”She looks back at , trying to feign misinterpretation , but he quickly slams he open palms flat against the table-top , rattling the plates on it and making his coffee spill over the brim of the cup onto a small puddle beside the table, silencing the lie about to slip from her mouth. Of course his father notices this , a deep “What’s going on here Billy, what’s wrong with you?” breaking the minor lull in sound in the kitchen. It falls on deaf ears , and even while Max is turning her head to his father to placate him, he reiterates the sentence, more pointedly this time. “I asked you Max, if that mark on your face is because of him!” with his voice raising to a deeper, louder tone at the end of his statement, his finger pointed in a strained manner at Neil. “No , this is nothing , I just fell…” and “What the fuck are you implying, you little piece of shit.” Both tear from their respective throats as Max tries to defuse the situation and Neil Hargrove starts to morph into the vile, violent person that Billy knows him to be. Neil grips his utensils tight, then throws them to the corners of the room with a ferocity indicative of the days when he used to play baseball. Out of the corner of his eye Billy can just about see how Susan jumps at the sudden noise, yet tries to remain calm. His father stands up, twisting his neck in a way reminiscent of a snake ready to attack its prey, chair falling backwards as he walks around the table on his way to Billy. As he stands near Billy’s side, Billy staring straight forward at Max, who looks terrified, he leans in and Billy hears him draw in a shuddering breath. “Maybe that queer fucking piece of jewellery in your ear has done something to your hearing , or you’re just choosing to ignore me. I asked you , what are you trying to imply?” 

It disgusts him deeply, and it is at this moment Billy realizes that his father’s revulsion is something that will never change. Unless, maybe, it is changed for him. The warm, unsettling breath of his father in his neck is what he’ll chalk down to being the cause for what happens next  
Three things happen almost simultaneously. The first, and least physical change in the kitchen, occurs inside Billy. He feels something inside him crack, like wood under the smothering heat of a fire, he feels how this thing cracks and breaks and shifts, and then he just knows that in this very instant he’s had enough. The second is an immediate follow up to this sudden metamorphosis inside Billy. His hand slides an inch or so to beside his plate, where his coffee rests, and he slips his trembling fingers around the handle of the cup. With speed Billy didn’t know his hung-over and bruised body was capable of, he smashes the mug against the side of his father’s face. He notes that the cup doesn’t shatter, but rather breaks into a few pieces as the hot coffee splashes on his father’s face as he lets the now crumbling cup fall to the ground. The third and final thing to happen is what Billy deems the most unusual. It is not the roaring of his father, face cut and burning harshly, but rather the sudden and almost hysterically unexpected guffaw Susan lets out, having turned around when she heard Neil address Billy directly, at seeing her husband being so frigidly put in his place. She instantly throws her hands up to cover her mouth, attempting and swiftly failing to contain her maniacal noises, a strange expression on her face. Billy thinks to himself that she’s maybe going into shock, but he doesn’t have time to ponder this thought, as his father is vehemently pulling him backwards by the collar of his shirt.  
Billy huffs as the air is knocked out of him and the recently forgotten ache in his head is brought back with new fury. He stares, dazed, up at the kitchen ceiling, his view now blocked by the appearance of his nearly frothing father above him. “You fucking queer, I’m going to kill you, I swear on my fucking life I am!” Neil shouts as he raises his fists in preparation of what is likely going to be the last assault Billy is going to have to endure in his life. Billy morbidly thinks that well, isn’t this ironic? That his father should kill him the one time he actually stands up for himself. He closes his eyes and awaits the inevitable, finding a unknown comfort in the thought that maybe his mom, his real mom, will receive him. Odd thing is, he waits and waits, yet no release comes, no ticket out of this hellhole of a life he’s had in his mere seventeen years. He opens his eyes doubtfully, unable to think of any reason he should not be in the process of being beaten to death. 

What he sees, though, would knock the breath out of him, had he any to lose. Max is standing behind the crouched Neil, a knife (he believes it to be a butter knife) to his throat. She mouths ‘go’ at him, and drives home the point with a fixed stare. Fleetingly, he recalls the episode down at that weird kid’s house, where Max had threatened to castrate him. He feels a swell of what must be gratitude and recognizes the chance given him. He distantly hears Susan screaming to Max, evidently driven mad with fear for her child, but he stares up into Neil Hargrove’s dark, malicious eyes and he punches his father. Hard. Neil slips out of Maxine’s grip, mostly because of the force of the punch but also because Max immediately let go, dropping the knife to the space close to where Billy’s chair had been tipped over and stepping back. She then runs to her mother’s side, at the counter, and goes unflinchingly for the phone sitting there. Billy launches himself up off the ground and goes in to subdue Neil while he’s lying on his back, but it seems Billy’s rage must be at least in part a hereditary thing, because in an instant Neil is struggling back up and lunging at Billy. He tackles him to the floor, their bodies sliding a few feet from the force of the collision, and Billy’s father starts to rain down upon his son a wrath Billy had only hoped he could have escaped. Neil lands frenzied blows on Billy’s downcast frame, hitting his face and chest and stomach all with a nonchalant effort. Billy splutters and coughs and tries in vain to block some of the blows, but can’t find it in himself in his frightened state to move quickly enough to intercept his father’s angry ministrations. He decides that sometimes the best defence is a good offence, and counting on the fact that his father believes that he’ll just lay there, docile as is commonplace during his beatings, he strikes out blindly with all his might. He hits Neil on his chin, forcing his head up and his body to heave a little off of Billy. Billy follows the up with another hit, managing to land it on land it on his father’s nose. While his father is cupping his now bleeding nose, Billy shoves him off, and abruptly scrambles to his feet. He looks at his father, on his back and clutching at his face, then up towards Max and Susan, the latter hurriedly speaking into the phone. Must be the police Billy thinks without delay. “Come with me” he says as caring and tenderly as he can, but Max just gives him a solemn smile and says “run!” in a hushed voice. 

If Billy has to choose a single moment in his life where he considers Max his family, he’d choose now. He sighs, nods his head and runs to the front door, nimbly grabbing the keys to his car off the key holder on the wall opposite the rack standing close by the kitchen. This is it. This is the moment he feels like freedom, for the first time in his life, is possible. He regrets having to leave the Mayfield’s with his dad, but he’s sure the cops are speedily on their way, and with that thought he’s rushing out the door, hasty to start his new life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Author's Note:**

> godddd, expecting five hours of angsty typing and listening to Adele and Cigarettes After Sex could deliver anything but this trash. Comment if you hate it, comment if you like it, just please let me know what ya think ? Thanks y'all.
> 
> once again, credit to @tonykorhonen for this prompt. Hit them and me @mic1204 up on tumblr.  
> if you have any prompts be sure to let me know.


End file.
